


Wish You Were Here

by Gigi_Sinclair



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-27 03:30:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21385369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gigi_Sinclair/pseuds/Gigi_Sinclair
Summary: "Tom doesn't resent Ed for going to sea when he himself no longer could."
Relationships: Thomas Jopson/Lt Edward Little
Comments: 3
Kudos: 38
Collections: The Terror Bingo (2019)





	Wish You Were Here

**Author's Note:**

> For the Terror Fan Bingo Challenge square "frottage."

With a musical trill, a pixelated flurry fills Tom's laptop screen. Slowly, the picture resolves itself into Ed, four thousand miles away in the middle of the Arabian Sea. 

“Tommy!” He's wearing a white Navy T-shirt, and he seems like he's in good shape. He could use a shave, but Ed often looks like that. Tom's not going to waste their precious Skype minutes arguing about it. 

“Commander.” It's still a thrill to say it. “How are things?” It's been two weeks since their last brief Skype conversation, two days since Ed was last able to email. Too long for Tom, even though he thought he was prepared for this when he decided to leave the Navy before Ed was finished with it. 

“Hot as balls,” Ed says, happily. A few months on an Royal Canadian Navy icebreaker in the far North was enough cold to last both of them a lifetime. "How about you?"

“Damp, with intermittent drizzle.” A typical English summer, in other words. 

Attracted by her other master's voice, Minerva comes up beside Tom, resting her large head on his knee. She is affectionately known as a “Newfoundland mix”, the unplanned daughter of Admiral Crozier's beloved Neptune and a neighbour's mixed breed bitch, who went into heat the day before Neptune was due to be neutered. “Hi, sweetheart!” Ed waves at her. She huffs, tail wagging, as Ed blows kisses. “How's my sweet little Minnie? How is she? Is she a good girl? Yes, she is.” 

Tom knows the image Ed strives to impart to his crew. Stern but fair. Rational. Unemotional. Tom sometimes wishes they could see him like this, baby-talking a dog on the other side of the world. 

When Minerva realizes Ed isn't going to offer the pats she desires, she wanders off, dragging one of her many expensive, “mentally enriching” toys into her luxurious dog bed. All of these things come courtesy of Tom's mother. “If she's the closest I'm ever getting to a grandchild,” she said, “I'm bloody well going to spoil her.” Minerva might not be the closest she gets, but Tom hasn't told his mother that. He'll never hear the end of it if he does.

“You said you got my gift,” Ed says. 

“I did.” Tom reaches down. It's a large box, close to five feet in length. Bringing it back from the post office on his bike was a memorable experience. “Here.” Tom moves to the floor, angling the laptop screen so Ed can see. The connection hitches, but it comes back as Tom picks up the knife he brought over from the kitchen for this express purpose. 

Tom doesn't resent Ed for going to sea when he himself no longer could. Persistent respiratory issues after a bad bout of double pneumonia meant Tom was medically unable to set sail with Ed. He could have stayed in the Navy, but he was ready for other things. Tom's happy with what he's doing now: studying to become a psychologist with a specialty in addiction counselling. Ed is happy as the second-in-command of a top-of-the-line aircraft carrier. Tom is fine with that, even if he hopes, at some point in the near future, they can be happy in the same place, together. For good.

“Ready?” Tom asks. 

“Careful with that knife,” Ed advises, unnecessarily. He's always careful. Tom slices through the tape and pulls open the box. 

He reaches into a pile of paper packing material and pulls out a pillow. A long, white pillow. “Ed, what...” Picking it up, Tom turns the pillow over and sees Ed's face, grinning up at him. 

Tom recognizes the picture it came from. It's a photo of the two of them at a resort in Cuba, taken when they went on holiday with a few of their friends from the RCN. Tom has the same picture as the lockscreen on his phone. Ed looks tanned, happy. Gorgeous. 

“I saw it online and thought it could keep you company." Ed laughs. Again, Tom wishes his men could see this side of him, but Ed would never allow it. He thinks they would cease to take him seriously if they knew he has a sense of humour. He can never understand they would appreciate him all the more for it. It took him long enough to realize how _Tom_ appreciates him all the more for it. 

“For another nine weeks,” Tom says. Nine weeks until they meet in the Maldives for Ed's shore leave. Tom's marking off the days.

“Nine weeks,” Ed agrees. “Don't forget, I'll have a question to ask you when I see you.” He's been saying that since he set sail. Tom smiles, but before he can say anything, the picture freezes. 

He waits a while, to see if Ed returns. When he doesn't, Tom writes him an email full of love, then closes his laptop. Leaving the Ed pillow on the sofa, he scoops up the packing material for the recycling bin. “Come on, girl.” Taking the lead from its hook near the door, Tom heads out, Minerva close behind him. 

***

Later, when Tom gets into bed and shuts off the light, his thoughts drift to Ed. They always do. From the moment they met, as Lieutenant Little and Petty Officer Jopson, Tom knew Ed was the one for him. Ed knew it too, apparently, although it took him a year and a very romantic shore leave in Hawaii to admit it. 

Being apart from him is harder than Tom imagined, and he knew it would be pretty damned hard. The days are all right. Tom is busy with his studies and his dog and regular texts from his mother, asking him to come by for supper or to help her with a computer issue or to watch _Strictly Come Dancing._ It's fine. She's lonely, too, and if Tom's with her, he can be sure she's not reaching for the bottle. But the nights are harder. 

The nights are when Tom feels Ed's arms around him, the way he imagines some people feel a missing limb. Even after all these weeks, he cries regularly, then feels stupid about it. Ed is still alive. More than that, he's doing a job he loves. That job carries risks, but chances are excellent Ed will come home one day. It's just that one day can't come soon enough. 

If Tom's totally honest, it's not just Ed's arms he misses. He shifts restlessly in bed, unable to settle. It's a common issue, normally solved by Tom's hand and some bland porn. Tonight, another solution springs to mind. 

The pillow is still in the front room. Minerva watches from her bed as Tom retrieves it, then returns to his bedroom, shutting the door after him. 

He hasn't fucked a pillow since he was about eighteen years old. Rubbing up on this one, imprinted with Ed's grinning holiday face, is odd, at first. The strangeness disappears as Tom thinks about the man himself. About shamelessly rutting against him in the semi-privacy of a changing room in Maui, kissing him desperately until they both came in their swimming trunks, and Ed spent the rest of the day convinced they were going to be arrested. About making out like teenagers on the sofa in Ed's parents' posh house, Tom taking his pleasure against one of Ed's wide thighs until the front door slammed and they hastily sat up, creating a tableau of two men reading a newspaper Tom was sure would have been very convincing, had they not been so completely dishevelled. About grinding against Ed in a gay club in Havana, Ed just drunk enough, for once, to suckle Tom's neck with the enthusiasm of a vampire and grope him like a man who didn't care if anyone watched.

In the nick of time, Tom realizes he doesn't know if Ed is machine-washable. He comes onto his own T-shirt instead, then tosses it into the wash basket and pulls Ed into a warm, post-coital embrace. “I love you,” he says aloud, not even feeling silly about it. It's the truth. If he misses Ed more than he thought possible, then he loves Ed in equal measure, and that feels amazing. Better yet is the knowledge, absolute and certain, that somewhere in the middle of the Arabian Sea, Ed is missing him and loving him just as much. Enough to send him this ridiculous present.

Tom knows what question he's going to ask when they meet in the Maldives, and he knows what his answer is going to be. It's the same as it would have been a year ago, or five, or the day after they met. “Yes,” Tom says. He plants a kiss on Ed's lips, and falls asleep with his arms wrapped around his new favourite pillow.


End file.
